


on the origin of love

by suzzzan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, soft so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzzzan/pseuds/suzzzan
Summary: it starts as an office romance.or, the series of events that transpired when aziraphale and crowley were angels in heaven.





	on the origin of love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and, so on](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193052) by [PaintedVanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla). 



> i wrote this entirely in the online text editor because i got bored. all the while, i braved through anxiety caused by the "Note: Text entered in the posting form is not automatically saved. Always keep a backup copy of your work." don't do that, kids.

it starts as an office romance.

a pair of blue eyes meet a pair of gold eyes over a conference room of haloes.

”can someone dim the lights?” that’s lucifer, giving a presentation with lots of slides. today’s topic is original sin, and he never says ‘please.’

”gabriel! could you, for the love of _God_ —“

a collective gasp washes across the conference room. the blue eyes widen, and the gold eyes narrow. they don’t break their gaze, though. the angel with the blue eyes is starting to feel nervous, and it’s not because of the tension in the room.

”yeah, i know—holy name, shan’t use use it in vain—et cetera, et cetera. i don’t see the Almighty, do you— _gabriel_! the sacred lights! right, that’s better—can all you feathery folk see?”

the angel with the blue eyes looks away for a second—at lucifer’s first slide, which reads in large text,

_Original Sin And Why Forbidden Fruit Trees Are Unnecessary For Humans To Be Sinful Bastards_

and below it in smaller text,

_or: simplifications to the great plan_

then below that in even smaller block capitals,

_WHICH HATH ORDINANCE BUT WHY DON'T YOU ALL SHUT UP AND APPRECIATE HOW I'M TRYING TO MAKE OUR LIVES EASIER_

—and his head swims, understandably, because those are a lot of words to take in, so he turns back, looking for those golden eyes, which are—suddenly much closer to him than he remembers.

”ah!” he squeaks. luckily, the grumblings of dissent all around the room cover that rather embarrassing noise.

the angel with the gold eyes raises an eyebrow.

”but how did you—“ the blue-eyed angel says, “you were all the way over there, in that corner—“

”miraculous, isn’t it?” the angel with the gold eyes says.

”oh.”

”don’t pretend you didn’t want me to come over here.”

”i didn’t—i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear.”

”you were... _ogling_ me! you were practically sending me an invitation.”

”i-i did no such thing!”

”look at you, angel. you’re all flustered.”

the angel with the gold eyes smiles. it’s a proper angelic smile, all beatific and sparkling, and the blue-eyed angel’s chest tightens in a... flustered sort of way.

still, he denies it. “i am not! besides, you ought not miracle yourself everywhere, my dear. Up There doesn’t like frivolous miracles.”

”i think it was perfectly necessary,” the other angel drawls.

the blue-eyed angel feels a chill run down his spine at the unspoken implication.

”Up There already doesn’t like me, anyway,” the other angel continues.

”oh?” the blue eyes stretch as understanding dawns. “oh, because you’re on lucifer’s team. i was wondering why i hadn’t seen you around.”

”didn’t ask to be put on it with him. don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice bloke, but he’s got these mad ideas. and he keeps going on about Falling, like it’s the same as going on holiday.”

”i could use a holiday,” blue-eyes whispers, then flinches like he might Fall next second.

the gold-eyed angel laughs.

the truth is, none of them know much about Falling. it’s simply something they're programmed to fear, something that happens to you if you commit an unforgivable offense. but no one knows what counts as unforgivable, or even worse, where you go.

”he is rather radical, isn’t he?” blue-eyes says, a bit louder.

”sorry, who?”

”lucifer.”

someone shushes him, and, chagrined, he turns his attention back to the meeting. one of the angels at the head of the conference table is saying that we shouldn’t question the Almighty’s plan of the fruit tree, because it’s part of the great plan, and the Almighty wanted humans to have the choice of choice, also known as free will.

”but it’s also in the great plan that the humans will disobey and eat the fruit!” lucifer bellows, banging a fist on the table. “so why give them the _illusion_ of choice?!”

the room bursts out with shouts of "blasphemy!" and "traitor," and "give him the boot!" lucifer's only on slide #3.

gold-eyes leans in. “yeah, i'd say he's radical."

blue-eyes snickers—may the Almighty forgive him, he actually _snickers—_ it's the most un-angelic thing he's done in ages, but he surprises himself by enjoying it. "by the way, my dear, what is your name?"

"antony. yours?"

"aziraphale."

"ooh, that's a good one, that. do you even know how to spell it?"

aziraphale tries not to appear hurt, but he doesn't manage it so well. gold eyes turn apologetic immediately.

"i'm sorry, angel, just meant it as a bit of fun. i'll remember it, i promise you. i'm good at remembering things. i'll remember you."

"see that you do," aziraphale says through tight lips.

he turns stonily back to the presentation, which is still paused on slide #3. lucifer and gabriel are having a heated discussion on whether or not the first two humans should have bellybuttons.

"you're not at all like the other angels," antony says, leaning in even closer.

aziraphale tenses at the proximity, though he doesn't think antony notices. he's rather good at standing in a stony fashion; he thinks it means he'll be a great guard one day, when there are things the Almighty needs angels to guard. like the fledgling planet earth.

"what do you mean, my dear?" he whispers back.

"you're not like them." a pause. "i like you."

"i see," aziraphale says, as if antony has explained what he meant at all.

"don't you like me, angel?"

"o-of course. i like everything. we have to. we're angels."

"not in that way." it comes out as an almost whine. "you—you were staring at me from across the room. doesn't that mean anything?"

"i-i'm not quite sure. i suppose it might have. i hadn't given it much thought before you miracled yourself over here. haven't you learned that patience is a virtue, my dear? and that there is a time and a place for everything? well, we have all the time in the world. and right now, we're supposed to be paying attention to lucifer's presentation. who is _your_ team leader, i might add."

antony leans back, grumbling under his breath. he doesn't withdraw too much, though, and aziraphale finds that he misses the distinct warmth that was pressed against his elbow.

***

"aziraphale."

"hello, antony."

"i told you i'd remember, didn't i?"

"you did promise."

"i have something for you."

"oh? what is it?"

antony takes something the colour of his eyes out from his robes. "gold leaf, angel."

aziraphale makes a face. decorative gold was popular. angels put them all over their faces, their hands, ankles, nails. he didn't much care for it, personally, but this is a gift. from antony. he teases his uncertain expression into a smile.

antony beams back. looking at him and the gold leaf, aziraphale suddenly remembers—

"i know why i was staring at you, during that meeting."

"took you long enough, angel."

"i thought your eyes looked beautiful."

antony moves to apply the gold leaf, but aziraphale stops him.

"i... don't think i should, my dear. i don't like to feel vain."

"nonsense, angel. i went through all the trouble to get it already. it's not vanity. just think of wearing it as a favor. for a friend."

aziraphale ponders this, then nods. the gold leaf goes on his cheekbones, a thin smattering of nebula.

"you look beautiful, angel."

aziraphale has never felt so full.

***

"antony?"

"yes, angel?"

"i think—that—i believe i do like you. more than i like most things... in, in quite a different way, too."

they're sitting together, feet swinging. their hands might be touching.

"took you long enough."

"you're insufferable, my dear."

"say you like me again."

"i like you, antony."

"i like you too, angel."

***

"antony, my dear."

"yes, aziraphale?"

"you... you're not like the other angels, either. you're, somehow you're _greater_. greater than all of them. than everything."

"hush, angel. the Almighty hears that, and you'll get the boot."

aziraphale's silent.

"s'just a joke."

"i know that, my dear. i know that perfectly well by now."

"and i thought you'd never learn."

"do you understand what i mean, though, antony?"

fingers meet and latch. aziraphale's not sure which of them initiated the touch, but he cradles antony's hand with purpose. it's soft, soft.

"perfectly, angel."

***

perhaps they invent love. they are the reason cupid is an angel. the reason lovers hold hands and like the smell of each other's skin. why language sounds like poetry when you love. why you can't help but laugh when you love something a great deal and the only option is to let it bubble out of you.

they do all of this. they skip meetings. they lounge in beautiful positions, in tangles of limbs that later sculptures can only chisel out in their dreams. they feed each other grapes. they invent the arm-slung-over-shoulder pose. antony does it especially well, and aziraphale thinks he looks dashing when he sits next to him.

or perhaps all of it is already waiting for them, and they only discover it.

***

"aziraphale."

"yes, my dear?"

"nothing. i'm not sure what else to talk about. i feel i have so much more to say. to you, especially."

"i do think you deserve a break, my dear. you've named all the constellations already... although some of them might need renaming."

"why?"

"well... i don't believe 'aziraphale's butt cheeks' is a very appropriate name."

"oh come on, angel, don't be a killjoy."

"i'm just being objective, my dear."

"well, i'm hurt."

"i'm sorry, my dear, i didn't mean to offend you."

"i think you should make it up to me."

"how would you like me to do that?"

antony thinks—and thinks. they have all the time in the world.

"kiss me, angel."

and aziraphale does.

the objective of kissing is to work a pout into a smile, and then warm the soul. so, they kiss, and kiss, and there's some tongue involved—but mostly just smiles. they pass that warm, shivery feeling back and forth like a hot potato until both of their cheeks are ruddy.

aziraphale draws back with a sigh. "i liked that very much."

"then keep on doing it, angel!"

aziraphale does.

***

"aziraphale."

"hello, antony."

"aziraphale, i..."

"well, what is it, my dear?"

"i wanted to tell you something. but whatever it is i say, promise me you won't say we have all the time in the world. because this isn't about time. it's timeless. this, what i want to say, what i've felt since i saw you, it's existed forever."

"my, i thought you hated philosophy."

"i love you, aziraphale."

a pause. there's a great, vacuum-like sucking sound, the sound of all your hopes placed into four words, one basket, the sound of being completely at mercy.

aziraphale laughs. it's the sound of having been in love for so long you wonder why you didn't notice it, or never confronted the feeling. it's a sound that's easily misconstrued.

which is why antony looks for a moment like he'll never smile again.

but aziraphale says, "i love you, too. of course i do."

and someone (namely, aziraphale) has to cover antony's smile with a kiss because he's afraid it'll wash out the constellation he just convinced antony to rename.

"took you long enough," antony says when they break apart.

"you're being insufferable, my dear."

"say you love me again."

"i love you, antony."

"love you, too, angel. kiss me?"

aziraphale does.

***

time runs out, as it always does. they're sitting together, two angels, hands entwined, unhurried kissing. one knows it must end.

"antony! antony!"

before the rebellion, the higher ups issue aziraphale a flaming sword. antony laughs and predicts he will never use it.

"and how do you know?" aziraphale asks him indignantly.

"because i know you. you're different from the others."

he's right, of course. and now, aziraphale can't find him anywhere among all the war. somewhere, he can hear lucifer screaming his bloody head off.

"antony! antony!"

"kiss me. we don't have all the time in the word. kiss me."

and aziraphale does. "what do you mean by that, my dear?"

"there's no time. just—kiss me. i love you, angel."

he understands—God Almighty, he understands now.

"antony! antony, where the Heaven are you? i can't find you!"

the battle rages to a close. lucifer's quiet. all around aziraphale, angels start to Fall.

" _antony, please_!"

it's antony who finds him, who makes his way over to him, just like the beginning, in the conference room. "angel," he calls.

"please don't leave me. please don't Fall. you promised!"

antony nods like a wicker basket in the wind. "and i've kept that promise, haven't i? i'll remember us, i promise. i'm good at remembering things. i'll remember you, aziraphale. angel."

" _antony_ —"

"i love you."

"antony, no!"

fingers reach and latch. for a split second, aziraphale thinks he can do this, hold onto him forever—then the angel he loves slips like smoke—and Falls.

***

perhaps they invent loss, or perhaps they only discover it.

it doesn't matter.

***

in the aftermath of the war, aziraphale crumples the gold on his cheekbones into a little ball and tucks it away.

 _see that you do_ , he can't bear to say, _remember._

***

it starts when a pair of angel's eyes meets a pair of demon's eyes across a garden.

it starts—as a broken promise, a forgotten introduction, a ball of gold leaf in an angel's pocket, for when a demon might remember why he'd wear it again.

aziraphale thinks he can do this forever, hold onto him. after all, they have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> according to wikipedia, the 'h' in 'anthony' didn't appear until, like, the 16th century and since crowley likes to change his name, i thought why not?


End file.
